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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26807743">do you still believe in love, i wonder?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hecckyeah/pseuds/hecckyeah'>hecckyeah</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Bromance, Brother-Sister Relationships, Brotp, Bus Kids - Freeform, Character Analysis, Character Study, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, They deserved better, all the stuff we never saw, fitzdaisy, tying up loose ends from 5x14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:34:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,006</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26807743</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hecckyeah/pseuds/hecckyeah</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"His voice shook almost as much as hers, and she knew he was trying desperately to be strong for her. To downplay the severity of the situation, to keep her from panicking and losing control. And she couldn’t be mad at him for it. She wanted him to sugar coat it; to tell her it was fine, and everything would go back to normal. But it couldn’t. Nothing would ever be normal again."</p><p> </p><p>Fitz and Daisy through the years . . . From strangers to best friends to family. Their ups and downs, hurt and healing, and all the things that make them human. Brother and sister, always.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Leo Fitz &amp; Skye | Daisy Johnson, Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>do you still believe in love, i wonder?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I have always loved the Fitz and Daisy dynamic. <br/>Ever since their banter on the Bus, I always thought they had so much potential to be a kickass brother/sister duo. But then . . . 5x14 happened. So this fic was born. <br/>It will be a 3 (or possibly 4) part series of their past: their ups and downs, and their journey together as best friends. Including the aftermath of season 5, and how Daisy finally healed.</p><p>As always, I hope you enjoy! &lt;3 And let me know what you think!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sun shone brightly through the threadbare curtains. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It pierced through the drab, gray pallor of the dormitory, and made its lazy way through the room, stopping at a few beds, warming the girls sleeping within. Eventually it caught hold of the tangled ends of dark, golden hair and followed the strands up to meet a tucked shoulder . . . a button nose . . . a pair of closed, deeply-sleeping eyes . . .</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Mary-Sue </span>
  <span>Poots</span>
  <span> threw an arm over her face to block out the sunlight. She stretched out the other hand, gathered up her blanket, and pulled it closer to her chin. It was too early. Way too early.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>But any second now . . .</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Right about . . .</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Now.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning, ladies!” a familiar voice called, painfully cheery. Mary-Sue knew it was fake.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Up and dressed quickly, please,” the nun continued. “We will be taking in a new girl today, and you should all make her feel welcome. No delays now, I expect you to be down for breakfast in seven minutes—”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Mary-Sue mimicked the nun in her head, her lips barely moving in sync with Sister Anna as she finished, “—no sooner; no later. This is a home, not a hotel.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Her feet dragged to the bathroom . . . dragged back to her little three-drawer dresser . . . and dragged back to the changing rooms. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Who was this girl, that she was so important, anyway? Mary-Sue knew the nuns would put on fake, bright smiles and give her lots of hugs and tell her that she would have a family here as long as she needed it. They’d been through this routine more times than she could count, and it never improved. She knew (could predict) that the girl would eventually grow tired of meeting families over and over again, never being deemed good enough. Never living up to those wild expectations all couples had, that were always completely irrational and unattainable. Then she would be sent back to the dormitory while the couple talked with their social worker . . . and the nuns would pop in and give a slight shake of their head . . . and promptly hand her a new list of tasks to be completed by the end of the week.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Mary-Sue knew the routine well.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>And this time it would be no different. Guaranteed.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, she was proven right.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The new girl was nice enough. Mary-Sue glanced over her and took in her drab brown cardigan, the one streak of blonde in her dark hair, the way she gripped her hands together. She had nice eyes though, and Mary-Sue made a note in her mind that maybe they could be friends.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She thought that about most of the girls that lived at the orphanage . . . But eventually they all were adopted. And she never saw them again.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It was useless, trying to be friends with any more girls.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The next week, when the nuns brought out a little piece of a brownie with a single candle in it, and told her to have a nice birthday, eight-year-old Mary-Sue looked around her . . . looked at the crowd of girls standing behind her, with sad smiles on their faces . . . looked up at the nuns who discouraged rowdy birthday celebrations . . . </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At that moment, Mary-Sue decided that for a birthday present, she wanted a brother.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The boy took a deep breath of fresh, cold air . . . and promptly slammed the window shut. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He picked up a pencil and poked the eraser against his chin. His eyebrows</span>
  <span> drew</span>
  <span> together in deep concentration. The paper in front of him seemed to spin . . . morph into unreadable shapes and blobs. He closed his eyes, sighed, and leaned his forehead against his hand. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Aha.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes snapped back open, and his pencil flew frantically across the page, connecting numbers and lines together to form a cohesive answer.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The page stopped spinning. The numbers merged together, and the boy’s eyes scanned over his work.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Perfect.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms backward. Gathering up his papers quickly (only wrinkling a few pages), he crept across his bedroom floor and pressed his ear against the door. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Silence.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The handle </span>
  <em>
    <span>creaked </span>
  </em>
  <span>open, and he poked his head around the corner. He placed a foot onto the floorboard carefully and padded toward his mother’s desk. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She lifted her head up quickly when she felt his tapping on her shoulder, and smiled. “Finished, Leo?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he said, and handed her his work, already grinning from ear to ear. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes scanned over the papers, and with each pass, her smile grew wider. When she tucked the last piece of paper back into its place, her eyes shone with joy and Leo thought her smile might just break her cheeks. “This is wonderful,” she said, reaching out to pull him in for a hug. She landed a kiss on the top of his curly, unkempt hair. “I’m so, so proud of you.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>In his mother’s warm, tight embrace, Leopold Fitz knew everything would be okay. Even if his father hit him again. Even if he had to go to school and sit in the corner of the playground on his eighth birthday, he knew that as long as he had his mum, everything would be okay.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Skye was used to being alone. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She lived alone, traveled alone, worked alone . . . She had grown up alone, and she didn’t expect anything more from life. She was prepared to spend the rest of her life alone, because the universe obviously didn’t want to give her a family.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Even from a young age, through so many failed foster homes and the lack of social workers that wanted to introduce her to a family, she knew the chances of being adopted were slim.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The day before her eighteenth birthday, she called an adoption agency for the last time.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Had any families expressed interest in adopting a teenager?</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The woman on the phone with the high-pitched voice said she was sorry, darling, but if there was anyone, they would contact St. Agnes. Don't lose hope, though. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Skye slammed down the phone.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At least she would be eighteen the next day.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>And the first thing she would do was leave St. Agnes forever, and never look back.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>So that’s exactly what she did.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Leo was used to having his mum around.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>For six years now, it had been just them against the world. And even before that, they had faced their struggles hand-in-hand.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t imagine ever leaving her alone, after all she had done for him. She had always been his one constant in life. His rock in a swirling storm of a childhood and early teen-hood. When he came home from his first day of school crying because no one wanted to be his friend, she was waiting with a plate of cookies and a warm hug. When he curled up into the armrest of the couch, trying to avoid his father’s glare and shouted words and raised hand, dangerously close to Leo’s face. But his mum was always there afterward, with her soothing voice and bright laughter that drove away any clouds and shadows hanging over their little house. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>As his hand hovered over the application papers the Shield agent had sent him, Leo thought about what that would mean. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He would have to leave everything he’d ever known. He’d have to pack a suitcase and step onto a plane and fly three thousand miles to a strange, new school in a strange, new country with strange, new people. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>And he’d have to leave his mum alone here. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, she was his biggest supporter. “You’re going, and that’s that,” she had said with that tone that didn’t allow room for discussion. “You’re a genius, Leo. Shield needs that big brain of yours.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>But as he signed his name on the final dotted line, something tugged at his chest. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He’d always had family around, and now, at only sixteen . . . he would be on his own for the first time.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He wondered if he’d ever look back and regret his decision.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Skye didn’t get attached to people.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At least, she tried not to. Because that always (always) ended in disappointment. And when she walked up the ramp of this gigantic plane these strange people called the Bus, a cardboard box in her arms and a duffel bag slung over her shoulder, she took everything in with a hefty grain of salt. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>If she was going to spend some time here, she had to be careful. She couldn’t get attached. Attachment and close friendships only led to heartbreak. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>But when she caught the eyes of the two shy-looking, quick-talking, brightly-laughing, heavily-accented people, she couldn’t help but smile and laugh with them. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The curly-haired one grabbed her cardboard box, and the prim, proper, cheery girl handed her a bottle of water with a Shield logo emblazoned on the side. Of course, even their water bottles had logos. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It would be fun, she had to agree with the girl. Skye was always up for new adventures. As long as she didn’t stay in one place for too long, she was happy. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>This experience with Shield would be interesting, to say the least. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You and Simmons are so . . . </span>
  <em>
    <span>tight.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It’s like you’re psychically linked,” Skye said with a laugh. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ah. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Fitz may not have all the social skills other people did, but he knew a slam-dunk into the friendzone when he saw one. This was not the first time it had happened to him. It was obvious. And he decided then and there not to push the issue.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>After all, his crush </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>faded a little, he had to admit. And he saw the little grinning glances Skye thought she was hiding so well . . . directed at Ward. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“D- </span>
  <span>D’ya</span>
  <span> . . . You know,” he stumbled over his words, “A- Actually . . . no. I don’t think so.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Was she implying what she thought she was? She was insane. He and Simmons were best friends, and that . . . That was all, wasn’t it? How could Skye think any differently? </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The moment Skye realized how attached she’d become to this ragtag, annoying, mismatched group of agents was that fateful day in the belly of the Bus. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ward, May, Coulson, and Skye stood in a circle, and Skye wanted to throw up. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She took a glance into the lab, where she could see the back of Simmons’ head leaning against the glass door. Fitz sat cross-legged behind her, his tool </span>
  <em>
    <span>whirring</span>
  </em>
  <span> away. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She took in the scene, and her head felt cold. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>These people . . . </span>
  <span>Somehow,</span>
  <span> they had become so important to her in the last couple weeks. How had that happened?</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Simmons glanced back when Fitz tapped on the glass, and Skye felt her heart sink into her toes. Simmons’ eyes were bloodshot, her always-neat hair had escaped its confinement and now it framed her face in a wild halo. She had never looked so distraught the whole time they’d been a team.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>And while Fitz was obviously trying to keep a positive front for his friend, he looked no better.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They had to fix it.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She watched intently as they hurried silently around the lab, each second painfully short, the stakes becoming higher and higher the longer they failed. Skye bit her nails and cried and prayed to whatever higher power existed, that they would make it out alive.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>If anything happened to them . . . </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Skye didn’t want to think about that.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She couldn’t lose them, too.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Just allow me these rare moments of self-pity, okay? You’re the </span>
  <em>
    <span>least</span>
  </em>
  <span> supportive pretend girlfriend I’ve ever had.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Skye laughed.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Was this what it felt like to be best friends with someone? The effortless banter. Coming up with a half-assed story to sell a fake relationship to an unsuspecting and very confused train conductor. Skye hadn’t known these people very long, and yet . . . it just felt natural. It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>right.</span>
  </em>
  <span> For whatever reason, she knew she belonged here, with this strange, wonderful, mismatched team. Like Fitz had said before, they understood each other. They spoke the same language. It was like nothing she had ever experienced.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time in her life, Skye knew, without a doubt, that these people had her back. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>And she would always have theirs.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you disable their cars?” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>A plan was forming in Skye’s mind, Fitz could tell. He knew by experience that it would be a crazy, reckless plan, but somehow she always pulled through. If she wanted to infiltrate Ian Quinn’s private residence alone, then so be it. Nothing was going to stop her at this point.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He raised his eyebrows and tugged a few gadgets out of his backpack. “With my bare hands.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>His fingers bumped into something metal. He looked down and lifted out the ICER . . . And handed it to Skye. “Take this,” he ordered.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Her mouth fell open and her eyebrows drew together. He could sense the protest before it even left her mouth: “You’ll need it out here.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Just take it,” he reiterated, more firmly. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She paused, and he glanced up to meet her eyes, his jaw set, not leaving room for any more arguments. Skye closed her mouth, pursed her lips, and nodded. She understood.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Be careful, okay?” he said, softer this time, knowing she was nervous; knowing she was like a loaded spring, about to let go and risk everything for the greater good, with no concern for her own safety.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She glanced to the side and met his eyes again. “You too.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>And for a moment, Fitz felt a sharp pang of fear shoot through his chest. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Who did they think they were? </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He’d never had any field training, and Skye was just beginning hers. They were the most unqualified people for this situation, and he just knew. Something was going to happen. He trusted her, but what if she needed him and he wasn’t quick enough? He wasn’t the Cavalry. He couldn’t take down a mansion full of spies and security guards even in his wildest dreams. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>But he nodded, stared out at the terracotta roof, heaved his backpack up, and cleared those thoughts out of his mind.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She would be fine.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Leopold Fitz knew how it felt to be broken. He knew the constant, burning ache of betrayal and change all too well.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He thought maybe . . . maybe Skye would, too. Maybe she would help him when Simmons decided he was too much of a burden for her. Maybe his pseudo-sister would have more compassion and understanding, and maybe she would stand by his side.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>But she didn’t.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Granted, she was never cold or apathetic. But she treated him like glass. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>And that was almost worse.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The enthusiastic, gung-ho Skye he could banter all day with was gone. Her attention had been primarily focused on Tripp and May and Coulson . . . and of course she didn’t have time for Fitz. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>And who would want to make time for him, anyway? </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They had both changed. Dramatically. In their own way, they were shells of their past selves, though Skye’s change was less obvious than Fitz’s. He envied her for that, secretly. She could still speak in full sentences, she had full control of both her hands, and her best friend </span>
  <span>hadn’t up and abandoned</span>
  <span> her for no reason. He tried not to be cynical (he really did). But being trapped in his own mind for so long, with no one around who wanted to try to connect with him or understand him . . . That wore him down. Every day was a struggle, and every day he just wanted his old friends back.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted things to go back the way they were, before his injury . . . before the world came crashing down around them . . . before Ward reared his ugly Hydra head . . . just . . . before. When they were a team. A tight-knit, perfectly-in-sync </span>
  <em>
    <span>team</span>
  </em>
  <span> who had each other’s backs no matter what.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Now, he barely recognized most of them. And they hardly even looked at him without that horrible, fake </span>
  <em>
    <span>pity</span>
  </em>
  <span> on their faces.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>So he kept to himself.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You hate being alone,” Jemma had said. And she was right.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Every second was painful, when he stood in the shadows, watching them run a debriefing session without him. When he sat at his desk in the dark lab, speaking softly to Jemma, who he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> wasn’t real, but he just . . . couldn’t see the point in admitting that, when she was his only comfort. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He knew how it felt to be broken. And he wouldn’t have wished it on anyone.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you just do?” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Skye couldn’t keep her voice from shaking, even at a whisper. Hot dread shot its way through her stomach, and she hardly even noticed the throbbing in her hand anymore.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Fitz wouldn’t meet her gaze. “Switched your blood results with your old samples,” he said, his face stone-cold and sweating. “Give me your hand.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She couldn’t see past the cold, sinking pit of horror in the center of her chest. Old samples? Why did he . . . “The new samples are different?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Drastically,” he whispered, still focused on cleaning her wound. He crouched by her feet, her right hand in his. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Skye hardly processed what he had said. The glass of her quarantine chamber closed in on her, pressing on every side, taunting her with the vast, dark unknown . . .</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Until everyone around here calms down,” he said, “I don’t think we should tell anybody. What with the way Simmons is acting.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>His voice shook almost as much as hers, and she knew he was trying desperately to be strong for her. To downplay the severity of the situation, to keep her from panicking and losing control. And she couldn’t be mad at him for it. She wanted him to sugar coat it; to tell her it was fine, and everything would go back to normal. But it couldn’t. Nothing would ever be normal again. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“For now, we should just keep it between us,” Fitz continued and nodded, pressing harder on the gauze pad to stop her bleeding. “Keep you safe. Until we figure it out, okay?” His breaths came in short, hurried gasps, and beads of sweat dotted his forehead.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Skye nodded frantically. Anything to delay the inevitable. Her eyes stung, and hot tears fell, tickling her chin and burning paths down her cheeks. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>And suddenly . . . she couldn’t take it anymore. She had been alone for too long. She felt too much. The days had been never-ending, all blending into one, and every emotion she’d felt came back, slicing into her stomach and constricting her chest. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She collapsed, sliding off the edge of the bed . . . and threw her arms around Fitz, hanging on for dear life. Wrenching sobs escaped her throat, and she buried her </span>
  <span>red, tear-drenched</span>
  <span> face into his shoulder. “It’s all my fault,” she said around her gasps and stuttering breaths. “I . . . I could have stopped her, and I let this happen, and I’m so . . . </span>
  <em>
    <span>sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span>—”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Fitz protested. “No, it’s okay.” His arms drew her close, letting her cry. Supporting her. Holding her tight as she sobbed into his sweater.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s something . . . very wrong with me,” Skye whispered, and she instantly felt Fitz’s shoulders tense.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He clutched her tighter to him and turned his face to rest against her hair. “No, you’re just different now,” he began . . . then stopped. Took a few breaths.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Skye’s chest burned. Her hand ached. And she realized what he was struggling to say. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They were in this together. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She hadn’t fully understood his own pain and struggle and </span>
  <span>distance</span>
  <span> from the rest of the team. She’d been wrapped up in her work. Her training. And she hadn’t been able to understand why he felt so </span>
  <span>different</span>
  
  <span>than </span>
  <span>everyone, but now . . . Now, she knew. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Two different life-changing experiences, but they were somehow exactly the same. Neither of them could ever go back to their old selves. Fitz’s brain would forever be damaged. Irreparable. And Skye’s DNA would forever be different. Unchangeable. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re just different now,” Fitz finished, more firmly as if trying to drill the words into her mind. “And there’s nothing wrong with that.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Fitz hadn’t realized how often everyone around him put themselves in harm’s way. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Risking their lives seemed like more of a constant than staying safe. He guessed it just came with the territory, and it snuck up on them slowly, giving them a false sense of security for too long. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>And honestly . . . he didn’t really care. Because these people were family. He would do absolutely anything for them. For their safety. He would stand in front of John Garrett, ten guns pointed straight at him, and tell the man he could shove it. He would (almost) jump out of an airplane with a parachute he had no clue how to operate. He would stand in front of one of the most dangerous men in Morocco and tell him to his face that he would rather have his guts spilled in the sand than give up the chance to find a single clue about the whereabouts of his friend.  </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently . . . the sentiment extended to his teammates, too.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He watched, adrenaline coursing through his body like it never had before, as Daisy held her hands to the side and pursed her lips. The round, stone room around him began to hum . . .</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He held his breath. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Daisy gasped and shut her eyes. “Tuning,” she explained breathlessly. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The monolith rippled . . . and Fitz’s heart leapt into his throat. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He grabbed the cord attached to the probe and hooked it to the back of his pants. This was not the time for rational thinking. He only knew he had to find Jemma. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold it open as long as you can!” he shouted, before throwing himself into the surging, rippling pit. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He knew how powerful Daisy was, but he had no idea how long she could hold it. If it closed . . . then so be it. He just hoped she wouldn’t feel like she had failed him . . .</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“How is she?” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Fitz glanced backward to meet Daisy’s eyes. “Disoriented,” he said. “She’s in her bunk right now, she just . . .” He let out a long breath, and Daisy thought she saw his chin shake just a bit . . . and were his eyes watery?</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She sat down quietly in the rolling chair next to him and rested her elbow on his desk. “I still can’t believe you got her back, Fitz. What you just pulled off—” She placed a gentle hand on his forearm. “That was a miracle.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He stared at his hands. “I just . . . should have been there with her.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Daisy tried to catch his gaze again, and implored him to understand. “No. You can’t do that to yourself. She’s here and she’s okay. That’s what matters.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he said and brought both hands up to rub his face, elbows resting heavily on the desk. He tilted his head to the side to meet her eyes. “Thanks. By the way.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“For what?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He tapped the desk, and Daisy noticed his knee bouncing up and down, heel clicking on the floor. “I know you can’t hold the—” he stretched his hands in a bad imitation of her, then pointed at his own nose. “Your powers. They hurt after a while.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“It was worth it, and you know that,” she countered. She took a breath and softened her voice . . . and smiled. “But you’re welcome. My nose isn’t even bleeding anymore.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>A hint of a grin warmed Fitz’s face, and he leaned back in his chair. “Can’t have you broken forever,” he joked. “You come in useful sometimes, you know.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, so I’m just another gadget of yours, now?” She tried to counter his teasing with a straight face and a glare, but she couldn’t help but smile. It had been too long since they’d joked together like this. It felt nice. Familiar. Like she finally had her brother back after more than a year.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Fitz’s quiet laugh echoed through the empty lab, and as they went back and forth, throwing around insults and quips, Daisy soaked in this moment. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>If this was what having a brother was like, then she never wanted to be without one.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p>
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